


Tutela

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Series: Evangeline Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Cullen was not a templar in name any longer, he still felt a sacred duty to this mage in particular, and would be remiss in that duty were he not to intervene and take steps to protect said mage from herself and what damage she could potentially do to herself with a spirit blade the size of the greatest greatsword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutela

_Tutela: Tutelage, guardianship; derived from the root "tutus," meaning "safe" or "prudent."_

_###_

_She’s going to put her eye out._

The thought came with such certainty and clarity, Cullen knew it to be truth, rather than foolishly overprotective inclinations.

Then again, even if his inclination leaned in the direction of protectiveness, that was what he was, and what he had been for years prior to this point. And clearly, though he was not a templar in name any longer, he still felt a sacred duty to this mage in particular, and would be remiss in that duty were he not to intervene and take steps to protect said mage from herself and what damage she could potentially do to herself with a spirit blade the size of the greatest greatsword.

He was also rather fond of her eyes; it would be a shame were she to put one out.

Cullen watched her from above—Evangeline was not overly fond of Commander Helaine’s methods or demeanor, and had turned, instead, to Cassandra, who had been tireless in her attempts to tutor the Inquisitor in the finer points of swordplay. Though the weapon was a mage weapon—and very little was known for certain about the spirit blade aside from that its origins lay in the early and mostly lost magics of the arcane warrior, and Cullen’s own knowledge on that variety of expertise was frustratingly slim—it was quite evidently light.Evangeline struggled not at all with the weight, which removed one of the greatest obstacles any swordsman must learn to overcome—the weapon’s weight and heft. Unfortunately, the blade’s lightness evidently did her few favors. 

He watched a moment longer, studying her face, the set of her shoulder, the wide—too wide, too uncontrolled—arc of her blade.Cassandra’s skill in swordplay was without exception impressive, but Cullen wondered if perhaps she were too close to the problem to see the solution.He himself wasn’t entirely sure of the solution, but he’d trained enough men since the beginning of this endeavor that he thought Evangeline might benefit from a different tutor, if just for a while.Granted, other responsibilities awaited—true, for both of them—but neither could Cullen in good conscience send the Inquisitor into battle wielding such a deadly, impressive weapon; she’d most definitely lose an eye—or even more valuable appendages.

Irritation stabbed at his chest as he noted the crowd watching the Inquisitor train—but none of them stepped forward to offer any aid.They all simply… watched.Evangeline Trevelyan was the Herald of Andraste, the face and voice of the Inquisition.Most dared not use her name if indeed they knew it. Most only ever saw the product of her work, not the smaller trials and failures from which her skill, her determination arose. Of course it didn’t occur to them to offer help because it would never have occurred to them this woman might have _required_ help. 

He and Cassandra, though, had known her since the beginning, since this woman, this mage, stumbled out of the Fade with a mark on her hand and a hole in her memory.They both knew a little better than most just how human Evangeline was. And Cullen suspected he knew it even better than the Seeker, for he’d been privy to this woman’s doubts and fears; she had confided in him her worry and her uncertainty. She was not weak, but neither was she unconstrained by mortal limitations.

As he moved closer, Cullen realized his intervention would be perfectly timed.Cassandra wasn’t frustrated, but Evangeline most obviously was at the very end of her tether.Perspiration shone at her brow, dampening her short hair and darkening her clothes, and understanding hit Cullen with a sudden, swift kick.A swordsman must first _lift_ the sword, must first learn to balance the weight and control it despite its heft.But Evangeline’s blade was a manifestation of her will, her mana; she did not have to carry the weight, but she had to manifest the blade.The entire exercise was a tricky blend of grace and focus one was unlikely to master after reading a book and crafting a hilt.It would take time and practice and determination—the latter of which the Inquisitor had, thankfully, in spades.

“It’s about time you showed up.”Dorian loitered at the corner of the tavern, leaning against the stone, arms crossed indolently over his chest and just out of Evangeline’s line of sight.Strange to see him away from the library, but when Cullen caught the concerned tilt of the other man’s brow, it was less a mystery.“Do something about this, will you?She’s too damned stubborn by half. Won’t take a break, either.Cassandra’s suggested they begin again tomorrow, but _someone_ isn’t having any of it.”

“And just what do you think I can do about it?”Though an idea had already begun forming.

“I’d suggest attempting to talk sense into her, but you might have better luck tossing her over your shoulder.”Dorian tilted his head in mock consideration.“I doubt she’d thank you for it, given the audience, but I’d certainly be amused.”

Closer now, he took another look at Evangeline’s face; on anyone else’s face the expression would have read as nothing less than cold fury.But he recognized it as equal parts frustration and determination—she could not quite get the sword where it was meant to go. Greatswords were a tricky business—Cullen knew this all too well.There was far more to their usage than swinging and hacking, and in the hands of a master, a greatsword could truly dance.One of Hawke’s companions, back in Kirkwall—the elf, Fenris—had been one such a master.Iron Bull wielded his blade with power and finesse that bespoke years of training, but Cullen had yet to see Fenris’ equal with a blade.

Unfortunately, the fledgling Knight Enchanter demonstrated no such quality.True, she’d annihilated the training dummies, but without anything resembling control, much less any sort of artistry.And no matter how light the blade, if the one wielding it possessed no control, had no idea how to direct it, then an even more precious resource was lost: energy.Or, in this case, mana.

The problem, or one of the problems, he had already identified. The Inquisitor—as Dorian had astutely observed—was in the company of an audience. Soldiers, agents, runners, scouts, merchants, random hangers-on whose presence in Skyhold he had not yet divined—surrounded her, watching.And while perhaps it was not the worst thing in the world for them to see the Herald of Andraste locked in a very human moment—and if Cullen knew Evangeline at all, that alone was why she tolerated it—he very sincerely doubted these were the best circumstances for her to practice a new—to say nothing of mentally challenging—skill.

“No,” he murmured, “she wouldn’t thank me for that, I’m sure.”

“But?” prompted Dorian.

“Hmm.”

“That doesn’t give me much to go on, Commander.”

He sent the other man an arch look.“I don’t believe it was meant to.”

Instead of joining the crowd at the yard, Cullen instead turned, stopping briefly into the tavern for a skein of water before making his way out, keeping his expression neutral, for that would only make their tongues wag harder.He was, first and foremost, a commander of armies.Whatever else he was, particularly as concerned the Herald, was none of their business.

It was Cassandra whose eye he caught first.She shook her head minutely; it was not she who was being a stern taskmaster, but rather Evangeline herself.News that surprised Cullen not in the least.

 But perhaps he could help.

“That is enough for today,” Cassandra announced.The spirit blade fizzled and flickered into darkness with nothing more than the softest spit-hiss of residual magic.

“No,” Evangeline protested, though sweat dripped from her chin, and exertion had turned her cheeks pink and her eyes almost unnaturally bright.“I nearly had it—”

“That is enough for today,” Cassandra said again, more gently and yet more pointedly, with a nod his way.  

Evangeline turned and started, her lips forming a silent _O_ before her mouth snapped shut.“Cull—Commander,” she blurted, scarcely catching herself.The color at her cheeks intensified but he did not comment—he only raised the waterskin and waited as she took a long drink.

“Do you have a moment, Inquisitor?” he asked, maintaining a formal, detached tone, though his heart lurched sideways at her obvious exhaustion, at the sagging line of her shoulders, and her grateful smile as she took the water.“I am in receipt of some correspondence I believe you may find interesting.”The less than truth fell from his tongue with startling ease, but there were so many eyes at Skyhold—to say nothing of gossiping tongues—that a tiny falsehood was worth the relative peace it could buy.

“Of course,” she replied, just as formally, just as detached, though she did spare a withering glare for the sleeping hilt, as if she were trying to think of a good reason not to fling it across the courtyard.In the end, though, she hooked it upon her belt.“Lead the way.”

Once away from and above the yard, they walked together along the battlements, their silence companionable as Evangeline drank her water. They had not quite reached the space he’d claimed as his office and living quarters when she stopped, turning and staring out at the snow-topped mountains unfurled before them, lining the horizon with their craggy points.There they remained, neither saying anything, and neither minding.

In truth, Cullen’s first impressions of Andraste’s Herald had been that she was somewhat aloof.At the time he’d not thought it a necessarily bad trait, though he had wondered how someone so reserved might ever manage to appeal to people in the way the Inquisition needed the Herald to appeal to them.Gradually, flashes of warmth and good humor began to surface—Evangeline was neither cold nor aloof; she was merely reserved.Cautious.Careful to show her heart.He now had an inkling of how deeply she cared for her people and for the Inquisition itself.In Cullen’s estimation they were lucky to have her.

Still, becoming a Knight Enchanter did not seem the sort of skill that would have appealed to her.Some fighters were born to immerse themselves in the thick of battle, while others were better suited to ranged weapons, fighting from a distance.For all Evangeline was a gifted mage, this path seemed counter to what Cullen would have considered her natural inclinations.

He drew in a breath and let it out again; the chill in the air turned his breath to steam that hovered an instant before vanishing.“I must ask.”

She turned, meeting his eyes with a hint of a smile at her lips that told him she had an idea of where his thoughts were headed.“Yes?”

“Why…why this specialization, Evangeline?” he asked—and though he’d not entirely meant to phrase the question quite so bluntly, the words had already been released.He sighed.“I apologize.That… came out wrong.”

That hint of a smile widened, as heartbreakingly warm as it was utterly exhausted.“You think I’d have been better suited as a Mortalitasi, perhaps?”

“Not at all,” he replied, moving closer and resting his forearms against the stone ledge. “ But this—” he gestured at the mystic hilt “—seems only to frustrate you.Granted, I understand better than most the trials and tribulations of sword training, both as the teacher and the student, but…”

“But,” she said, pale winter-grey eyes settling on him, “you wondered if perhaps my choice was based solely upon what I thought the Inquisition _needed_ in its leader rather than… what I truly wanted?”

He considered this.“Maybe not in so many words, but… yes.”

“You’re--well,  _partially_ right, as it happens. I do _want_ to learn it.But at the same time I feel—before this point, I’ve had little choice but to lead from behind, rather than at the front. I dislike it. It feels…”

“Dishonest?”

She looked up sharply, eyes widening, which told Cullen either his guess was very good—or very bad.

“That’s exactly it.How did you know?”

A good guess, then.Cullen shrugged, turning to take in the very landscape she’d been admiring.“It makes sense,” he told her, eyes tracking the mountaintops, “because I have seen you work.Do not forget how often I’ve stood across from you at the war table.”He sent her a sidelong glance, adding, “And do not think for a moment I have ever overlooked your vexation when you had no choice but to send men and women somewhere in your stead.”

The laugh that puffed past her lips was a rueful one.“Guilty as charged.”

“It’s hardly a reason to feel guilt.”

“And yet.”

They stood in silence a while until Evangeline spoke again.

“Do you want know the hardest part of living at the Circle?”

Old inclinations and defenses sent the muscles in Cullen’s shoulders tightening up in a path to his neck.His jaw set.Yes, after Kirkwall he could most definitely imagine—

But her words, so soft, so calm, turned his thoughts before they could gain any sort of momentum:

“Being given leave to visit home.”

Now it was Cullen’s turn to be surprised.Surprised and… perhaps marginally confused at the sudden turn in the conversation.“I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.You’re saying being allowed to  _leave_ was difficult?”

She sighed.“The Ostwick Circle was… how did Josephine put it? ‘Somewhat more retiring,’ I think.In any case, being a Trevelyan there had its advantages.Once I’d passed my Harrowing, I was allowed home to visit on occasion. Usually holidays, or if there was some sort of family to-do.I got to leave.I always returned but… I got to leave.”

“You were allowed to go _home_.”Yes, she’d said as much already, but Cullen still could not shake the sensation he was missing a particularly salient point.  

Her smile was a knowing one and humor glinted in her eyes as she said, archly, “Do I detect a note of disapproval, ser templar?”

“No—I, _no_.Well.Maybe surprise. A little. You must allow me that, at least.”

“Very well,” she replied on a laugh.“Surprise is fair enough.In any case, I’m sure my parents made sizable donations in return. The library grew exponentially during my years there.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand how—”

Her smile shifted sideways into something more melancholic, and yet still so _knowing_.“How visits home—the very thing nearly any Circle mage would give their eye teeth for—could come to be the bane of my existence?”

“Well… yes.Since you put it that way.”

“Take a moment. Think it over. I’d like to see if you can figure it out.”

He did, turning the scenario around in his mind, examining it from every angle.Many mages resented being sent to the Circle, but there had been some for whom Circle life was a direct improvement over their lives at home. “Did you,” he began cautiously, for he was afraid to open old wounds, “did you not… enjoy these visits?”

“What?” she teased. “Sleeping in my own bed—in my own _room,_ without having to share—and going outside whenever I wanted?Being permitted to wear clothes that weren’t mage’s robes?Going to balls?Yes, I can see where that might seem unbearable.”But then the arch look and tone subsided and she gave a slow shake of her head.“No,” she murmured.“No, as it happened, the difficulty came whenever I returned. You’d not believe how often I was accused of putting on airs.” 

_Ah_.“That—yes, I can see where that would make more sense.”Even after all he’d seen, it was too easy to forget mages could be cruel to _each other._ Oftentimes their camaraderie had seemed unconditional to him.Then he was reminded, rather reluctantly, of his own youth; how often had the children from noble families been treated in much the same way?And of course the same could be said for children not of noble birth.It had all meant so _much_ , then.And now, well.How were any of them to know only after years of serving together, of fighting side by side, any differences in their respective births would cease to matter?

Turning back to the mountain range, Evangeline rested more heavily against her arms, shoulders slouching.“Believe me when I say it was the height of irony.”

“What do you mean?”

“My parents wanted me to do well in the Circle.And I, being the type of child who wanted nothing more than to please her parents, immersed myself in my studies, determined to do so.But on the day I left, my mother told me—Maker, we were both in tears—she said to me, ‘Don’t put on airs, but don’t be common.’”

“…And, naturally, once you started receiving special treatment, they accused you of putting on airs.”

The memory still stung; Evangeline’s expression tightened, but briefly, before fading like the outermost ripples on the surface of a pond.“They said I had no real place in the Circle of Magi, that I wasn’t truly part of it, that I wasn’t any better than an apostate.As if being allowed home were… were a weakness, and I sacrificed some badge of honor by indulging so.”

“What did you do?”

“What ought I to have done?” she asked, shrugging a shoulder.“I’m a Trevelyan.I did what I was taught to do—I bloody well ignored them.I focused on my studies, and when my parents called me home, I went.In time I had friends enough—not the impressive following we see today, but those aren’t precisely _friends_ , are they?”

“No,” he agreed.“They are allies.Not quite the same thing.”

“Precisely.Allies can turn on a copper.Friends… don’t.”Her hand slid across the stones to settle on top of his and the warmth of her palm radiated through his leather glove.“As it happens I’m quite content having few friends.As long as one of them is you.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about on that account.”

She squeezed his hand and shifted closer.“You’re wondering when I’ll reach my point, though, aren’t you?”

With a chuckle, Cullen turned his hand over, palm up, and threaded his fingers with hers.“No.”

“Liar.”

Bringing their clasped hands to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckle.“Never.”

“I wasn’t a _real_ Circle mage because I had the privilege of going home.I wasn’t a _real_ noble because it was common knowledge I’d never inherit any land or hold any sort of legitimate, proper title.Then I stumbled out of a rift with a glowing hand and people started calling me Andraste’s Herald, saying she _saved_ me, which we now know wasn’t true at all.”Before he could argue, she held up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t mistake me—I…I don’t deny I’ve been placed on a path, and I don’t deny strange things have happened since being placed on it, but that’s hardly the same thing as letting people believe that, speaking entirely literally and without metaphor, Andraste herself saved me.”She bowed her head and her voice wavered, but her grip on his hand remained firm.“On some level or other I’ve felt like a fraud throughout so much of my life. Now I have the opportunity to do something about it.And so… I will.”She glowered again at the hilt.“If it kills me.”

With his free hand, Cullen brought his fingers to rest beneath Evangeline’s chin, tipping her face up to meet his eyes.“You’ll understand,” he told her, quietly, “if I said I would prefer it not come to that.”

Her response came in the form of a wan smile.“Then I will do my best to avoid that particular outcome, Commander.”

Stroking the pad of his thumb across her chin, Cullen leaned closer and brushed a kiss across her lips.“I am relieved to hear it.”Then, straightening, he relinquished her hand, only to rest it on her shoulder, easing her away from the stone ledge.“Come now.Let’s go.”

“…Where?”

“Madame Inquisitor,” he said with a deep, formal bow, “I feel I would be remiss in my duties as your general, leader of armies, and trainer of recruits if I did not offer my assistance in your sword training.”

The earlier discontent vanished and the gleam of excitement in her eyes reminded him of nothing so much as the sparkle of the sun over freshly fallen snow.“Do you mean it?”

“Evangeline,” he said on the bare breath of a laugh, “I have trained more greener-than-the-Maker’s-grass recruits in the past six months than possibly anyone in the whole of Thedas. _Ever_.Yes, I mean it.”

Her smile was instant and wide enough that both cheeks dimpled, and in that moment he vowed to himself he would see to it she learned to make her blade dance.“Maker’s breath, Cullen, I could kiss you.”

“That, my lady, is a burden I shall gladly bear.”

 


End file.
